


pride and prejudice

by adelek



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Enemies to Lovers, Excessive Yearning, F/M, Lots of Direct Quotations from the Novel and Pride and Prejudice (2005) because Why Ruin Perfection, Mutual Pining, No Sex Because it's Jane Austen, Slow Burn, pride and prejudice au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:09:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29441688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adelek/pseuds/adelek
Summary: you were in the middle before you knew you had begun.
Relationships: Sakusa Kiyoomi/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 52





	pride and prejudice

**Author's Note:**

> crossposted on my tumblr, @lovesakusa

> **– ACT FIVE.**

_it is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife_.

at least, that’s what your mother, mouth full, would have told you and your sisters over the dinner table. retrospectively, though, you _should_ have told her that she was entirely full of shit. had you known better then, you would have turned down the dances, the meetings, the tense flirtation. you would have, had you _realized_ , separated yourself from _him_ and his possibilities entirely. you would have rewritten the nature of your entire existence so that you did not, would not, have to watch your sister’s heart be shattered like glass across the tiles. 

perhaps single men want wives. but that does not mean they want _you_. and that certainly does not mean they will play nice to get it.

not that it mattered, anyway. you stiffly, bitterly resolved never to see **sakusa kiyoomi** and his well-pressed suits and his cold eyes and his delicate curls ever again. you refused to reminisce on the way you let your tongue run wild with him; you denied yourself the right to observe his beauty from the corner of your eyes, the right to remember that he existed at the center of your world. 

you were _resigned_ , you told yourself. sakusa had tried: he had failed. he had ruined your life and your sister’s and he had offered you no apology worth keeping. 

sakusa had burned a hole into the center of your being, rattled the foundations you stood upon, and threw your own faults back to you like a tempest. sakusa kiyoomi had never _liked_ you, and he made sure you knew it, too. 

so it was over, you supposed. and yet. 

you wanted to be satisfied, you did. you wanted never to hear his name whispered on the lips of your neighbors. you wanted him to disappear from society, to disappear from you. you wanted sakusa kiyoomi to move countries, to change names, to find himself so far removed from your circle that he formed a galaxy all his own. 

but when you imagine it: when you imagine not knowing about his whereabouts, when you imagine forgetting the lilt in his voice, you tremble. you say you hate sakusa kiyoomi, and yet his name sits heavy on your tongue like perfume, like poison.

for, as they say: _you were in the middle before you knew you had begun_. 

* * *

> **– ACT ONE.**

even if hinata shoyo was filthy rich, sakusa kiyoomi was richer by miles.

you remember it vividly: how wealthy bachelor hinata moved into the old estate in town and became the only name anyone knew. how hinata shoyo became every young girl’s future husband. how your mother, your sisters, your friends invented the narrative of what they could only imagine to be _wealthy bachelor hinata shoyo_. how your mother planned your future weddings before anyone had met him. how your sister repeated his name.

(you did not bother crushing anyone’s fantasy – you were an average family, no name, no connections, who remain average until they died. but your mother believed you would marry rich, and so you indulged her.)

you remember all too clearly how the town threw a ball in hinata’s honor, because that is what they did for newcomers, always.

you remember the overpowering silence that filled the dance hall the first time you saw them. the violins halted, the floor whimpered in pain as a hundred pairs of sweaty dancing feet suddenly stilled in anticipation. hinata, poised in the doorway, didn’t notice the silence: he never did. he grinned at his new neighbors, waving his hand with an unmatched enthusiasm and an excitement that reverberated like candy throughout the room. 

the music began again. hinata shoyo, with his equally bright sister in tow, advanced into the room as if he had done so a thousand times before. the town adopted him like he had always been their own. so the dances resumed; hinata laughed. 

but your eyes remember, always. _him_. taller by a mile, with cold eyes and dark hair and a demeanor unmatched by the eighth circle of hell. it was not his arrogance but his indifference that struck you, the way he did not care who watched him, the way he did not mind if you knew he wished to be anywhere else. 

“sakusa kiyoomi,” your best friend, kiyoko, had whispered to you. “i hear he’s even wealthier than hinata. almost _double_ the income.” 

“he doesn’t look much fun,” you’d retorted, a sly grin on your lips. but still, you could not look away.

you let yourself forget him for awhile, letting the room spin as your various partners led you across the dance floor, letting your eyes water as you cried from another joke launched drunkenly across the room. you became distracted, too, by the quick and painless courtship of hinata and your sister, yachi. she was beautiful and sweet and rosy – always had been. and you knew as soon as hinata saw her that she would always be enough. you knew that your mother was not joking when she said hinata and yachi would be married. 

and when you met hinata yourself, saw up close the kindness and enthusiasm in his eyes, it was as obvious as your own name. 

yachi and hinata danced together the rest of the night. he never let go of her hand, and she never moved her shy gaze from his bright eyes. the world watched as yachi and hinata presented themselves, unknowingly, as the couple of fairy-tales and fantasy. 

of course, yachi was always so painfully timid, but you knew her flustered demeanor, the obvious blush staining her cheeks, were simply signs of a powerful affection that manifested beneath her anxious appearance. she was always so _quiet_ , but she smiled in hinata’s direction, and that was enough. 

sakusa must have noticed, too, because the sight of your sister dancing with hinata seemed to have left a bitter taste in his mouth. if he could have been colder, stiffer, he would have. he refused to dance with any of the young ladies, and he refused, further, to speak to anyone below his station. a classist bitch, you inferred, because he would not speak to such lowly commoners. indifferent and cold: your first impression, forever. 

(“he hates crowds, apparently,” kiyoko told you in confidence. “that’s what i heard hinata say.”

“still,” you protested. “he’s a bit of a prick. he could at least smile every once in awhile.”)

nevertheless: you will always recall what sakusa kiyoomi said about you that night. 

tired from dancing, later, you laughed and laughed with your delightful kiyoko in your hidden corner, alcohol and hormones on the brain. you teased the men who had stepped on your feet, chatted about the way yachi would surely become the luckiest woman in the world. and on cue there was, too, the sound of hinata’s voice, somewhere off, warm and refreshing, hovering somewhere between reality and a dream. 

“yachi is so beautiful,” you heard hinata say, wistful romance infecting his tongue. “did you _see_ her?” 

“she is certainly a beautiful creature,” sakusa agreed, plainly, whether for himself or his friend, you could not tell.

“her sister is quite nice too,” hinata commented. “pretty, and just as agreeable.” _you_. something foreign bloomed in your stomach for the first time. hinata, bless his soul, with a compliment that had never been afforded you. 

“she is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt _me_ ,” sakusa had replied, chilled and resolute, crushing your blossoms. his voice disappeared into the deep; you could not decipher what else he said. and in that moment, despite your laughs at his expense, despite the way you and kiyoko came up with a thousand little jests about _cold_ and _boring_ sakusa kiyoomi, you resolved to hate him forever.

* * *

> **– ACT TWO.**

and yet, you could not escape him. 

not, of course, when your mother was hell-bent on pushing hinata and yachi even closer together: hell-bent, of course, on a marriage that _must_ happen because she had already begun writing the invitations.

so when hinata’s sister wrote, asking yachi if she would do her the honor of joining her and her brother for tea, your mother did what any caring matron would do. she sent yachi, carriageless, to the estate on an afternoon filled with rain. on schedule, yachi arrived at the house already coming down with a cold. on schedule, hinata insisted that yachi stay at the estate until she was well enough to return home.

but you couldn’t just let yachi fester there, could you? how could you be sure her letter was true and that she was okay? 

you walked across the moor in the midmorning sun, drinking in the sound of birds and whispers of trees. and when you arrived at the estate, flushed with nature and air and being, you found him there, too. 

sakusa kiyoomi, sitting at the parlor table, who stood when you arrived, who stared at you like he had seen a ghost when you asked after yachi.

(“did you walk here?” hinata’s sister, natsu, asked. 

“yes,” you responded. “i love to walk.”) 

perhaps you and sakusa did not like each other. but you could not stay away. 

and that was how you found yourself in one of the estate’s many studies, seated with a book you were hardly reading, as sakusa wrote letters and natsu walked curious laps through the room. hinata vibrated on the couch across from you, attempting his best to be still and compliant and failing with utter misery. he did not read, he said, because he never caught the words. 

it was like a game, really, of how closely you could circle around sakusa without giving it away. it was like a game of what he could draw from you, and you of him. he wrote, back turned, with a stiffness and poised unease so typical of him you wondered why he did not collapse from exhaustion. sakusa would write, steadily, with those fine fingers, and then sigh deeply, pause, begin again.

you were not quite sure if he just didn’t like you, or if he were really just that unhappy.

“you write uncommonly fast, sakusa!” natsu told him, voice laden with praise, breaking the silence, as she peered over the desk in admiration.

“you’re mistaken,” said sakusa, unimpressed and cold. “i write rather slowly.” and that was the end of that.

“how many letters you must write!” natsu tried again, eager to befriend him. “that must be so annoying.” 

and to the sweet girl, the great unfeeling sakusa replied: “then it is fortunate it falls to _my_ lot, and not to yours.”

and could you help your obsession with refuting him? when sakusa had said, rudely and blatantly, that he did not think you interesting? when sakusa, in conversation with the unrelenting natsu, gave his definition of the “fine, accomplished woman” – a definition so preposterous you choked back a laugh? of _course_ you told him, quickly, promptly, that you had never seen such a thing, snapping your book shut with the vigor of an army. 

and it was the look sakusa gave you that made you want more, and more. you loved to provoke him like it would sustain you. you loved that he loved to provide. 

you circled him, vulture-like. hinata’s sister watched you watch him. hinata giggled, softly, a child of sunshine. 

“let’s walk about the room!” natsu suggested, holding a hand out to you, hoping to alleviate the uncomfortable tension in the air. and you took it, of course, because you could not deny her anything. so you turned in circles through the study, holding onto natsu’s arm like a child holds its mother. 

“sakusa,” natsu said, “you should join us.” you could not help but admire her resolve to get him to come out of his shell. 

“no,” sakusa replied. he did not even glance your way. 

natsu’s shoulders sagged. “why not?”

sakusa sighed, begrudgingly, and peered up from the letter he so wanted to compose. “there are only two reasons you are walking together. either you are in each other’s confidence and you have secret affairs to discuss, _or_ you are aware that your figures appear to the _greatest_ advantage by walking. if the first, i should be completely in your way, and if the second, i can admire you much better from here.” and so sakusa kiyoomi, cold, unfriendly, returned his gaze to the writing desk. 

you could not even be sure if he meant to call you handsome this time, you were so occupied with glaring into the back of his skull. 

“ _sakusa_!” hinata said, giggly and shocked at his friend’s blunt behavior. “we should punish you for being so rude today!” turning to you ladies, he asked, “how should we do it?”

you shrugged. “we could always laugh at him.” _oh, to laugh at the great and arrogant sakusa kiyoomi_. 

“oh, no! you can’t make fun of sakusa!” natsu cried. “he’s not one to be teased.” the worried gaze in her eyes said it was true. 

and you, never one to give up a grudge, separated yourself gently from natsu and approached the writing desk. “are you too proud to be teased, sakusa?” when he did not immediately respond, pretending you did not exist, you pressed further, “would you consider pride a fault or a virtue? because right now, sakusa, we are all trying to find a fault in you.” _perfect bastard._

sakusa looked you in the eyes, then, and it was like falling into infinity. it was bottomless, calculating, challenging. “i have faults,” he told you, but his solemn tone, his bored tone, did not change. “my greatest, perhaps, is that i find it hard to forgive others. _my good opinion, once lost, is lost forever._ ” 

you did not question the hard glint that formed in sakusa’s eyes. and when you admitted, regretfully, that you could not laugh at him for such a statement, the defensive gaze remained and swallowed the room.

and even still, a few days later, when yachi recovered her strength and hinata called for a carriage to take you both home, it was as if you had never left the study and sakusa’s bottomless, unknowable gaze. when you saw sakusa standing regally beside the carriage, lifting yachi in with good grace as hinata melancholically bid her goodbye, you wanted to laugh at him, you did. 

but all you could picture was the gaze. 

sakusa kiyoomi lifted you into the carriage with large and well-kept hands that were soft from wealth and warm from the sun. he did not look you in the eyes, uncharacteristically timid, and only mumbled his farewell as he curled in on himself.

you watched him strut back towards the house. shoulders tense, he flexed the hand that held yours. 

* * *

> **– ACT THREE.**

you would never have known, but sakusa was jealous when he discovered he wasn’t the only man in your life.

 _miya atsumu_ , you said his name with your nose upturned. a solider, stationed in the village nearby. he was snarky and goofy and fun, and you were lying to yourself if you said you did not love a man in uniform. with that flirting of his, atsumu made you feel desirable: he’d shadow you around town, adorning you with delicate kisses and secret caresses. you could not get enough. 

you _liked_ atsumu. you liked that he was easy and open and friendly with you. you liked that you didn’t have to think with him, that he did not hide from you. 

(your younger sister, amelia, was infatuated with him too. and while later that would briefly ruin your life, you could ignore her childish pining, for now.)

and once, intimately, after a rather tense run-in with sakusa, atsumu confided in you about the bad blood bubbling between them. the sakusas, atsumu said, had taken him in, had raised him and sakusa kiyoomi like brothers. but yet, upon the death of sakusa’s father, atsumu had been shut out from the family entirely. sakusa kiyoomi forced him to live on his own, atsumu lamented. and now, he was nought but a penniless soldier, doomed to march for all eternity. 

“he hasn’t spoken to me since,” atsumu told you with that forlorn look in his eye. “i certainly didn’t expect to see him around here, that’s for sure.” 

“well,” you’d responded, eager to have atsumu’s lips near yours again. “sakusa is a bit of a prick, after all. that’s awful what he did to you.” 

but _sakusa_ didn’t like him either, apparently, because the night hinata hosted a _private_ ball for all of his new friends, you darling atsumu was nowhere to be found. 

tragic, really, when all you wanted was another glimpse of that blonde hair and infuriatingly flirtatious smile. you’d been hoping to dance with him, to make a move on the handsome soldier, perhaps. you certainly did not want to spend the night alone. 

instead, you found out from kiyoko’s collected rumors that sakusa himself had blacklisted your little atsumu from the party. 

instead, you found strangers, you found hinata making heart eyes at yachi who blushed timidly and looked away bashfully in return, you found appetizers that couldn’t quite fill the disappointed hole in your heart. 

and from across the house, for everyone to hear, your mother, hot with wine and lust and money, told anyone within earshot about the impending marriage between hinata and yachi. a marriage, of course, which did not yet exist, but she did not have the decorum to say so. it was a marriage she was so certain of she did not care if the entire world knew about it. 

(and maybe you should have been upset with her, but at the time, you did not know what her words could mean. you did not think your oblivious mother, in her proud declarations, could cause more trouble than she already was. at the time, you could only fathom, in desperation, that you would be unable to dance with atsumu.)

and, then – 

“dance with me,” a voice declared, drowning out the din of the chatter and the violins and the piano. 

“i would be honored,” you replied just as stiffly, realizing as the affirmation left your lips that the suitor had been sakusa, uncomfortable in his own skin but devastatingly beautiful in his suit. 

so that is how you found yourself standing across from sakusa kiyoomi and not the regretfully absent atsumu. that is how you found yourself partnered with the man you swore to hate and who you firmly believed hated you.

when the violins commenced, you found yourself even more surprised that he and you performed the steps in tandem, that he was your partner, that you were holding hands. you were quite impressed, truly, that sakusa moved with such grace and ease under the circumstances. sakusa kiyoomi danced like water, even if his eyes were as cold and empty as stone. you would never have expected: he hated crowds, he hated movement. and here he stood, the best dancer of them all.

but nevertheless, you had a personal vendetta against him. for who could ever forget how he felt about you?

“i love this dance,” you said, just to spite him, and there was no real admiration in your tone. 

sakusa raised an eyebrow, clearly disconcerted that you had spoken at all. perhaps he had been just as surprised at his offer to dance as you. “it’s most invigorating.” he refused to make eye contact. 

silence, for another beat: only two bodies like cardboard, stepping to the beat like automatons. 

you sighed, aggrieved at his purposeful silence. “it’s _your_ turn to say something, sakusa. _i_ talked about the dance – now _you_ ought to remark on the size of the room or the number of couples. that’s how this works.” 

you saw something in him change, then. if there was one thing you commended sakusa kiyoomi for, it was that when you chose violence, he did too.

you swore he rolled his eyes, and there was a ghostly smirk blooming on his solemn lips. “ _please_ , tell me what you would most like to hear,” sakusa replied, and the bitterness in his voice could have seasoned the roast duck in the dining room. 

_bastard_. “that will do for now,” you said. “perhaps later, i’ll observe that hinata’s private ball is much more pleasant than any public one. for now, we may remain silent.” 

step, time. you drowned, slightly, in sakusa’s enticing cologne. 

sakusa cleared his throat, tired and regretful and vain. “do you always talk while dancing?” 

you scoffed. “no. no i prefer to be _cold_ and _unsociable_. makes everything so much more enjoyable, don’t you think?” for a brief moment you considered stepping on his feet, but you decided the action would be immature. 

sakusa breathed in, hard, but to your chagrin, he kept composure, and the dance went on. 

“tell me,” he said, after a beat. “do you and your sisters often walk to the next town over?” 

“yes,” you responded, hard and taciturn. you thought if the dance would go on much longer, you would implode. “we do. it’s a great opportunity to meet new people. when you saw us the other day, we’d just had the pleasure of making a new friend.” _a gentleman,_ you think. _and a pretty one, too._

“oh, _miya atsumu_ is so blessed with manners that he _always_ makes new friends. whether he’s capable of retaining them is another question,” sakusa said, clenching his jaw. and you knew, angrily, what sakusa implied when he said “friend.” 

you saw red. “he’s been so unfortunate as to lose your _friendship_ , sakusa. and i suppose that’s irreversible?” 

sakusa nearly halted on his feet, wildly ruining the flow of the dance with the unchecked fury in his eyes. you saw something threaten to snap inside him, something he could not control. “ _absolutely_. why do you ask?”

you stopped dancing, then. you did not care who saw, who might crash into you. “to figure you out, sakusa.” 

“and what have you discovered?” cold and furious: fire and ice. 

“very little. everything about you puzzles me exceedingly.” 

sakusa stared into your soul, briefly, and violently ripped it apart with his fingers. “i hope i can give you more clarity in the future,” he offered. his voice, though, was anything but kind. his posture said he would kill you. 

he began dancing again, gracefully; you followed. if there was anything sakusa did not like, it was causing a scene.

you swore that sakusa was the only person in the room in that moment, and while he made your blood boil dangerously, you could not, would not, look away. it was as if he stole your breath from your body, like he held your entire existence in his hands. and with every turn through the room, with every step forward in the dance, you felt yourself pulled further and further into an orbit you could not escape.

and then the dance ended, and you were in a sweaty, crowded room again, eyes locked on sakusa kiyoomi in an eternal battle for dominance as the rest of the guests applauded the musicians. 

_sakusa has nice eyes_ , you realized. and suddenly you could not take it: you bowed to him, light-headed, and left the room. 

(you did not see how he studied you, distraught, as you left.) 

* * *

> **– ACT FOUR.**

the hinatas and sakusa left town within three days. 

it was so sudden, in fact, that the news took hours longer than usual to disseminate. while whispers haunted the shops in town, the news arrived on your doorstep in a short letter written in hinata’s unmistakeable hand.

 _we must return to the city_ , it said. _goodbye_. it did not ask to see poor yachi again. 

yachi was distraught, heartbroken, destroyed, as any young girl in love would be. she smiled at you through tears and told you she would be alright, but you knew. you always did. her heart was akin to a baby bird and by the looks of it, she had been pushed from the nest before she was prepared to fly.

your aunt and uncle took her away on vacation to their home in the city, thankfully, and yachi sent you countless letters convincing you of her recovery. she loved the vibrancy of urban life, she said, although she still could not get used to the crowds. _i’m doing well_ , she wrote you. _i barely think of hinata at all._ but the leftover tear stains on the paper that yachi worked furiously to dab away said differently. 

_i’m glad_ , you wrote back. _things are boring here. our atsumu is still gone_ , you told her, disappointed. _he hasn’t written to me, either._ you had not seen atsumu in weeks; he had been gone, silent, since hinata’s dance. and while your heart didn’t claim him, you certainly missed the affection he gave you. 

in the meantime, too, your best friend kiyoko got married. her new husband was a strange little man named tanaka, who you did not particularly like, but you could not say you hated, either. he was a pastor, although kiyoko thought his sermons were less than favorable. you visited _them_ , at least, because you could not stand to be home with only your parents and amelia for company. 

and, at least, tanaka’s house was nice: squat, homely, lived-in. kiyoko, who you were glad to see, carried a radiance of the newly-wed, of the woman who would soon settle into the pleasant domesticities of married life. you fit between them easily, a third party with no prospects and no love life worth speaking about. 

(although it bothered you, still, to see two people so frustratingly at peace, even if kiyoko _was_ your friend.) 

sometimes, too, tanaka’s close friend nishinoya dropped in for a visit, and you listened to their strange little quips all night long with half an ear. he was small and loud and looked at you too long with eyes too degrading, but you did not mind: he listened to your complaints about atsumu and sakusa with loyal admiration. 

what you did not expect, as always, was to _see_ sakusa on your little getaway. 

“his aunt lives nearby,” tanaka told you. you were frozen in the back of his little chapel, staring incomprehensibly at the back of sakusa’s head while he settled into his seat near the front of the room. “she’s a great patroness to many of us around here. he must be visiting her.” 

and when you slid into your seat on the other side of the aisle and tanaka took his position at the podium, sakusa saw you, of course. what would your life be if he didn’t? but for his grace or yours, he looked the other way. nishinoya, the loyal friend, watched you watch him and swallowed it all in stride. 

“you know,” nishinoya whispered, later, as tanaka droned through a sunday sermon. “i heard a rumor. sakusa might not be so bad after all.” 

“why’s that?” you whispered back, eager to take your mind of the sermon at hand. _sorry, kiyoko. sorry, tanaka._

“apparently he’s a loyal companion. from what i heard, he recently came to the rescue of one of his close friends.” 

“oh?” something prickled beneath your skin, then, something foreign and uncomfortable and strange. you felt it along the back of your neck, poised. a tinge of fear boiled in your belly. 

nishinoya hummed. “he saved a friend from a terrible marriage. that’s what i heard.” 

the foreignness caught in your throat. the walls closed in. you saw the devil hanging in the corner of the room. “who was the friend?”

“one of his closest friends, hinata shoyo.” 

your heart did stop, then, and the world spun on its axis and you were not sure why the walls were spinning. your knuckles turned white, your mind cloudy. _hinata shoyo. sakusa kiyoomi stopped hinata shoyo from a terrible marriage. a terrible marriage with your sister, yachi. he stopped it. he stopped._

your voice cracked and you felt hot tears form. “did he give a reason?”

nishinoya shrugged. “i guess he didn’t like the lady, or the family, for that matter.” 

another knife to the heart, twisting with cruel intentions – and, of course, you looked across the aisle to see sakusa’s unknowable eyes looking back at you. he was observing you like he could hear your whispers and read your mind. you could not take it; you left the chapel. so did he.

outside, it rained steadily. your sunday best dragged through the mud, but you could not find it in you to care. dizzy, unsteady, your head spun in circles; you could not, would not stop. _sakusa kiyoomi stopped the marriage. sakusa kiyomi convinced hinata to up and leave town. sakusa kiyoomi ruined yachi’s life._ you struggled, in vain, to breathe. 

you took shelter under the awning of an old pavilion, shivering with anxiety and cold. you trembled, desperate to make sense of the words. moments later, sakusa stumbled in, soaking wet, curls plastered across his forehead. with flushed cheeks he paused to catch his breath and collect his thoughts. you could do nothing but stand, frozen, as he straightened his wet coat and pushed the hair from his eyes. 

“i have struggled in vain and can bear it no longer,” sakusa declared, suddenly, with unquestionable conviction. “these months have been a torment – i came here with the single objective of seeing you. i have fought in vain against my better judgement, my family’s expectations, the inferiority of your birth, my rank. all of these things, i’m willing to put aside as i ask you to end my agony.” 

you frowned, a headache forming at the back of your consciousness. “i don’t understand.” 

“i love you,” sakusa said. the words fell from his mouth like stone. they did not match his lips. “ _most ardently_. please do me the honor of accepting my hand.” 

you blinked, mind empty, searching in vain for something, anything, to say. of all things sakusa kiyoomi could have told you, this was the last you would have expected. “i… i appreciate your struggle and am sorry to cause you pain. i didn’t mean to.”

sakusa tensed, his fingers curling defensively by his sides, his breath still labored. “is this your reply?” 

you swallowed, pulling awkwardly at the wet collar of your dress. outside the pavilion, a squirrel sprinted through the rain. “yes.”

precarious and delicate, sakusa shifted, waiting for the punchline that never came. “are you laughing at me?”

you shook your head slowly, and you could not help but pity him for just an instant. 

“are you rejecting me, then?” you could not lie: he looked like his world had been turned upside-down, like he had been told that he had only minutes left to live. sakusa pulled at his coat sleeves and pushed a stray curl away from his forehead. you knew the sakusa of discomfort, but you had never seen the sakusa of disappointment, of fear. 

but could you really sympathize, now that you knew what he had done? 

“i’m sure the feelings that _hindered_ your regard will help you _overcome_ it,” you spat back. you decided that you would step on his heart a thousand times if such an opportunity arose. 

sakusa grew colder, then, and rose to meet you, body and soul. “might i ask why, with so little civility, that you reject me?” he readopted his pose of indifference, of arrogance, of distance. regal, he was, even in the throes of fury. 

you scowled. “is you insulting me not enough excuse for incivility? but it doesn’t matter – i have other reasons, you know i do.” you were shaking, you noticed, overpowered by your own emotions. you balled your fists; you prepared for battle.

sakusa grimaced, but would not surrender. “and what reasons are those?”

you stepped closer to him, passionate and feeling, in the hopes he would hear you. “do you think anything would tempt me to accept _you_ , the man who has ruined, perhaps forever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?”

his mouth opened, closed, and the tension choked you. he smelled like rain and bergamot.

“do you deny it, sakusa?” you said again, begging for a response, a denial of nishinoya’s claim, an explanation. “that you separated a couple who loved each other? that you’ve utterly doomed them to misery?” 

his posture straightened against your accusations. “i do not deny it,” he responded defensively. he held no regrets. 

you _knew_ he would say it, and yet, a tear escaped you against your better judgement. you brushed it away hastily, unwilling to cry in the face of sakusa kiyoomi. “how could you?” 

sakusa leveled his proud gaze with yours, taking a step forward to close the precarious gap. “i believed yachi was indifferent. i observed them, and i realized hinata’s attachment was deeper than hers.” 

a rumble of thunder, somewhere. “she’s _shy_! and _nervous_!” 

lightning on your eyelids. “so? hinata is not particularly obvious with his affections either,” sakusa protested. “and even he thought she wasn’t reciprocating.” 

you were ready to _fight_ sakusa kiyoomi. you could not see straight; you hated him. “that’s because _you_ suggested it!” 

sakusa shook his head, boiling hot and heavy. “it wasn’t just your sister, either – it was the lack of propriety shown by your mother and sisters, too!” 

but his words hung in the air like a sharp knife, like raw and unadulterated anger. you could see it in sakusa’s eyes, the way the gravity of his words caught up with him. even the rain heard and paused in anticipation. 

“forgive me,” he said, quieter, and he meant it. “i shouldn’t involve them in this.” 

“and what about atsumu?” you pressed. you would not stop. “what excuses for your behavior towards him? he told me you abandoned him.” 

atsumu’s name was enough of a catalyst for sakusa’s anger to return, fully-fledged and menacing. “oh, _yes_ , his misfortunes have been _very great_ indeed.” the venom on his tongue could have poisoned you.

“you ruined his life and you still treat him with sarcasm? because of you, you ruined his chances! he lives in poverty!” you wished your words could have killed him, then. you thought of poor atsumu with his meager change, atsumu with his lonely life on the road, and you pitied him, deeply. 

but to your surprise, sakusa said nothing. he studied your face, hot and livid with indignation. he took a breath, and then – 

“so _this_ is your opinion of me. thank you _so much_ for your honesty. but perhaps these offenses could have been overlooked, had your pride not been hurt by my honesty in admitting scruples about our relationship. could you _expect_ me to rejoice in the inferiority of your circumstances?” 

for the hundredth time since you met him, you saw hell. you saw the end of the world, you saw the end of sakusa kiyoomi. it was raining and you were cold and all you wanted was for sakusa to disappear into the center of the earth. you prepared to call forth the devil for retribution. 

“from the first moment i met you,” you spat, “your _arrogance_ , your _conceit_ , and your _selfish disdain_ of others, made me realize that _you were the last man in the world that I could ever be prevailed upon to marry_.” 

a pin dropped between you, and something died. the corpse sat in the air and refused to be washed away by the rain. sakusa cleared his throat, and you refused to see pain in his eyes. 

“you have said quite enough,” he said, quiet and slow and thoughtful. his voice was soft and tinged with something akin to sadness. “forgive me for taking up so much of your time.” he pushed the wet curls away from his face, turned, and left. 

so you stood, alone, and you could not explain why you felt the way you did. 

* * *

> **– ACT SIX.**

soon, a letter. two sheets crisp paper, written upon with a close hand. 

_be not alarmed on receiving this letter, as i do not plan to repeat any of the sentiments that were recently so disgusting to you. i write without any intention of paining you, or humbling myself, as these wishes cannot be too soon forgotten. i will, however, ask to address the two offenses you laid against me. the first was that i separated hinata from your sister, the other that i had ruined the prosperity of one miya atsumu._

_my father loved miya atsumu as a son. as a consequence, he supported atsumu’s schooling and left him a generous living to make a career for himself as a pastor or something of the like. but upon my father’s death, atsumu made it clear he had no intention of taking orders. he gambled away his savings within weeks. he wrote, demanding more money, which i refused. he then ceased contact with us._

_however, atsumu visited us last summer. he declared he was in love with my sister, who is ten years my junior. during this time, atsumu tried to persuade her to elope._

_she is to inherit more money than can be described._

_when atsumu learned, however, that he would unable to touch this inheritance, he disappeared. i cannot even begin to convey the depths of my sister’s heartbreak. she was fifteen years old._

_as to the matters of your sister and hinata: i truly believed, after observation, that yachi was indifferent to hinata’s advances. i realize now, of course, that i must have been in error. while you certainly may not believe me, trust when i say it was in the service of a friend._

_sakusa kiyoomi._

* * *

> **– ACT SEVEN.**

you miss him. you hate it. 

it destroys you when it shouldn’t. you hold the letter in your trembling hands, day after day, poised with an apology on your lips. you were wrong about him. you despise it.

you miss him. you hate it. 

you return home and you tell no one about this. you do not know how how to act when your affections have changed: you do not know how to address the grievances, the prejudice, of all the time that has come before. you do not know what it means to apologize, what it means to forgive. 

yachi returns from vacation: you do not tell her about what you have learned, because you do not know if you want to shatter the fragile peace in her eyes. hinata is a wound you do not think you are ready to open. you let her be, for now, forever. 

so you take _your_ turn, and you vacation with your accommodating aunt and uncle. you keep sakusa’s letter buried in the depths of your suitcase and you look at nature like a true romantic and you pretend like your brain is not clouded with feeling. your aunt and uncle do not question your behavior, and you do not offer an explanation. you tell them that your dinners are delicious, that your bed is warm. 

you travel the countryside. you try to breathe. you miss him. you hate it. 

and it goes pleasantly, it does, until your carriage breaks down and you are a mile from the infamous _sakusa estate_. of course you are, because would your life be the same without it? 

“we should visit,” your uncle suggests. “we’re here, after all. i hear it’s magnificent.” 

“no!” you protest, words ahead of your mind. “i mean – what if he’s home?”

your aunt laughs. “oh, such great men are never at home.” 

and so you stand in the courtyard of an estate bigger than the sun: the most beautiful home you have ever seen, a house fit for kings and legends and myths. he is not home at present, says the maid, but she would be more than happy to show you sakusa kiyoomi’s expansive art collection, his drawing rooms, his refined and cultured taste. ( _i wish he were home more_ , the maid says as she leads you. _if he were to marry, i think he would not travel so much_.) 

_he is a most generous man_ , the maid says. _he loves it here, and we love him. i wish he were home more._

and sakusa’s expansive art collection is beautiful: marble statues of unfathomable intensity and emotion, baroque paintings from the netherlands, rugs and fabrics and glass he had accumulated on his travels to places you could never name. the greatest of his treasures, though, is a marble bust that sits humbly in one of his many rooms. wavy curls, an unknowable gaze, noble and confident and mysterious and strong. 

“this is a bust of the master of the house, sakusa kiyoomi,” the maid says, gesturing towards it, and the pride in her voice is palpable. 

“he’s handsome,” your aunt admires, “you’ve seen him, dear. it is a likeness?” 

“yes,” you say, but a whisper, because you are not sure if _this_ sakusa can hear you. 

“do you know sakusa, miss?” the maid asks. 

you cannot tear your eyes away from the marble, from a beauty that transcends time. “just a little.” 

“do you think him a handsome man?” 

his marbles eyes bore into yours. “yes, i think he is.” 

naturally, it is perhaps thirty minutes later – _perhaps_ – that sakusa kiyoomi arrives home ahead of schedule, and your life flashes before your eyes. he catches you off-guard in one of the studies, admiring a piano, and without a second thought you hunt for an exit as fast as your body allows you. it does not matter, though; sakusa kiyoomi catches you on the back patio while you hunt with voracity for the escape. 

“oh! sakusa!” you exclaim, as if you were not running away from him, as if you had no idea he’d seen. “i thought you were out of town.” 

sakusa shuffles on his feet, embarrassment clear on his face. “no…no i’m not.” he looks towards his feet. there is a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. 

“no,” you repeat, a whisper. 

“no, i came back a day early,” his voice is unsure and awkward and gangly, a tone you have never heard from him. “i had some business…” 

a solid, formidable silence stands between you. sakusa doesn’t dare look you in the eye; his head turns instead to examine the grounds, his house, his feet, your feet. you’re scared to look at him, too, and you feel hot and strange all over. 

“i’m here with my aunt and uncle,” you tell him, desperate to break the silence. “we’re on vacation.” 

sakusa’s head looks up to you, quickly. “oh,” he says. his cheeks are still pink. “are you… having a pleasant trip?”

“yes. we’re leaving the area tomorrow.” 

he starts. “tomorrow?” he looks like a young boy, lost at sea. he has never held this conversation. he is silent for a moment, searching your face, and then asks, “are you staying at that inn nearby?”

“yes,” you tell him, knowing you are just as gangly and awkward as he. 

another silence eclipses you both, but this one is palpable and loud and full of emotions you do not know how to name. something tugs on your heartstrings, gently, and you are overwhelmed with a sensation that is foreign to you. it frightens you, new and unnamed and _strong_. 

“i’m so sorry to have intruded,” you try again, because you cannot stand this warmth that grows within you and threatens your senses. it is unlike _you_ , unlike _him_. “the maid said the house was open for visitors. i didn’t know…” 

“may i see you back to your inn?” sakusa interrupts, and his eyes widen at his own request. 

your heart is loud. “no, it’s okay. i’m fond of walking,” you say, because you are terrified of what will happen if you are alone with sakusa kiyoomi any longer. 

“yes,” sakusa says. he’s looking into your eyes now. “i know.” 

your heart takes up residence in your throat, and you are caught in sakusa’s gaze, the real gaze, eyes that see you and study you and know you. you let yourself imagine what it would be like to wake up every morning in this estate and to eat breakfast at sakusa’s table and to hold his arm adoringly as he walks the grounds. you let yourself entertain this fantasy for a moment, the fantasy that you will be allowed to look sakusa in the eyes and know him for the rest of your life.

you break the connection. “goodbye, sakusa,” you say, although the words are bitter on your tongue. you turn, then, and even as you walk away, back towards where you hope is an exit, you still feel sakusa watching you with those unknowable eyes. 

( _oh yes! we saw sakusa too!_ your aunt and uncle proclaim later, once you have all reunited for dinner at the inn. _he’s coming here to dine with us tomorrow night – it’s not a problem if we extend our stay, is it dear?_

 _no_ , you reply. not a problem at all.) 

* * *

> – **ACT EIGHT.**

dinner with sakusa goes well, at least until you learn your sister amelia has suddenly eloped. 

he is begrudgingly well-mannered. he can be funny when he wants to be. he indulges your aunt and uncle’s silly little stories, treats the waiters with gentility, compliments all of the food on his plate. he even smiles, sometimes, and the sight makes your heart clench in your chest. 

so it goes well. until, of course, you are handed an urgent letter while trying to enjoy your rhubarb tart. 

“amelia ran away,” you sob, clenching the letter. you are in your room, now, dinner entirely forgotten as the world collapses around you. “with _atsumu._ she’s run off with him – they don’t know where…” you pause, crying, the words stuck in your throat. “she has no money, no connections…she’ll be ruined forever.” 

“how?” your aunt and uncle exclaim. sakusa, brooding ominously in the corner, stiffens. 

you wipe away a tear. “i don’t know,” you admit. “he must have come back to town, or…” you hiccup. “amelia always liked men in uniform.” 

“this is my fault,” sakusa says, approaching you. “i should have exposed him sooner.” 

you shake your head. “no, sakusa, it’s mine. i should have been more honest with my sisters. i should have told them to be careful.”

your aunt places a comforting hand on your shoulder, rubbing circles into the cotton of your collar. “is there anything that we can do?”

“my parents have gone to look for her,” you admit, gesturing towards the crumbled letter in your sweaty hands. “but i fear nothing can be done.” you know amelia. you know her excitable nature, her impulses. you know she does not think before she acts, but feels. it would not have taken much from atsumu to convince her to run away with him. she would have said yes without worry. 

“i wish i could help you,” sakusa says. he is but a few feet away, and the concern sits plainly on his chiseled face. 

“it’s too late,” you appease him. “it’s okay.” 

“i’m afraid i must take leave,” sakusa announces then, biting his lip. “i bid you all goodbye.” he leaves the room before you can respond, and you miss his presence, suddenly, or perhaps the smell of his bergamot clothes. you stare for a moment at the place sakusa used to be before your aunt softly ushers you to sleep. 

the vacation ends there, of course. you return home to comfort yachi while your aunt and uncle join the quest to uncover amelia and fix whatever damage they can. it’s unreal, really, the waiting. you wish you could be surprised that amelia could cause such a spectacle. you really do. but, unfortunately for you, outlandish endeavors have always been amelia’s signature move.

they find her within the week – she and atsumu had tried to find refuge in the city, but rumors led to rumors and she was sought out easily. she arrives home with atsumu on her arm, smiling as bright as anything in her brand new yellow frock. she flaunts the wedding ring at every opportunity she has, lifting silverware with flare and holding her manicured hands up to the candlelight while she reads. 

“it’s truly something, being a married woman,” she repeats once every hour, and you can only nod in agreement, bile rising ever so steadily in your throat. 

they leave soon after their arrival, of course, as atsumu’s regiment is to be stationed somewhere north, but not before amelia tells you about the _wedding_. it was truly _something_ , she tells you, drinking wine like she has been her whole life and running her mouth like a vice. everyone had been so _angry_ about her whirlwind romance, and for what? clearly it had ended just fine. even sakusa had attended their wedding, and he gave a speech!

“ _sakusa?_ ” you quip, incredulous. 

“of course,” says amelia. “you should give him more credit. he was the one who discovered us. he even paid for everything, including the ring, too.” she hoists herself into the carriage beside a seemingly unhappy atsumu and gives him a kiss for the ages. atsumu looks at you, and you raise your eyebrows. he says nothing; neither do you.

and so amelia leaves for her new life. and so her words ring, ominous and wild, in your ears. 

* * *

> **– ACT NINE.**

yachi leaves next, of course, because what is a romance without serial marriage? it was only to be expected, surely, because soon after the amelia debacle, hinata and sakusa return to town. the estate reopens, and rumors spread like dandelions through the grass. 

picture it, now. your mother, you, yachi: the three of you minding your own business, half-napping and half-attempting to get some embroidery or some reading done on a warm and stifling afternoon. until, of course, a dog barks. you happen to look out the window by chance, entertained by the noise, and there are hinata and sakusa in their bests suits and approaching your front door. 

“oh, dear _god_ ,” your mother says with her usual flair for the dramatics. “girls, look presentable!” 

you’ve barely straightened your skirts and found a spare book to look interested in when the door to the drawing room springs open and hinata and sakusa enter the room. your eyes are drawn to _him_ , immediately, the way he lingers in the doorframe, the way his moonlight aura fills the room. he looks nice today, you think, in that new suit, but you bite your tongue. 

you stand up, stiff, the book entirely forgotten in your hand. 

“how glad we are to see you, hinata!” your mother exclaims, clapping her hands for emphasis. “how things have changed since you left – amelia got married! although, it wasn’t well advertised, of course…but still, we’re so happy for her.”

“yes! i heard about it, congratulations!” hinata praises with those exuberant eyes, his unbridled energy cackling like lightning in the room. 

your mother nods, appreciative of the attention upon her. with her future son-in-law so close in her grasp, she would be loath to let go. “do you plan to stay in the area long, hinata?”

he shakes his head. “just for a few weeks, while the weather is fine. it’s going to be so much fun, though!” he glances at sakusa for approval, who pretends he does not see him. hinata is unfazed, though, and smiles again in your mother’s direction, in yachi’s. 

yachi smiles, but says nothing, captivated by his powerful stare. your poor mother, desperate for _something_ to happen, tries again to turn the tides in her favor. “you should come to dinner while you’re here, hinata. we’ll cook our best duck for you.” 

hinata grins, his genuine nature never ceasing to surprise you. he runs a hand through his tangerine hair in appreciation. “thank you so much. i’d be delighted.” 

while your mother and hinata continue to compete for the largest, most hospitable grin, you spare sakusa a timid glance. “how are you, sakusa?”

at the mention of his name, he looks suddenly like a rabbit before the barrel of a gun, having been content with occupying shadows in the corner of the room. perhaps he thought you would not address him today. perhaps he thought, after all you have been through, that you did not want to see him, still. 

“i’m well, thank you,” he says, shy. the words are nervous and formal, like he is meeting you for the first time all over again. 

you nod, desperate, now, in a way you have never been desperate before. you feel like your mother as you reach towards something you cannot grasp with your own fingertips. you realize you do not want sakusa to go away again. “i hope the weather stays fine for your visit.” 

“oh,” he responds, quick and timid. he bows his head, slightly, embarrassed. “i’m leaving tomorrow.” 

something in you deflates, severe and debilitating; you think he sees it. “oh. how soon.” 

you look at him; he looks at you. and you both feel so much, but don’t know quite what to say to understand it. you look at him, he looks at you, and you can feel the universe slipping away from you, bit by bit. 

the silence between you drags, until your mother tries again: “doesn’t yachi look wonderful today?” 

your heads all turn to yachi, silent, radiant, still sitting on the sofa with a polite smile plastered across her face. she has not spoken, but you can see the anxiety in the tremble of her fingers, the need and want and desire in the flush on her face. you can see that she is waiting, too, for someone to offer her a happy ending. 

“she does,” hinata agrees, his eyes on fire. you reckon he must be burning up with passion. 

another portent silence that drags, that sits, heavy and waiting. you watch sakusa, who watches hinata, who watches yachi, who blinks with such timid anticipation you cannot bear it. 

“well,” hinata clears his throat, a blush flaring up on his cheeks. “this has been a wonderful visit. thank you for having me!” the nervous way he moves to scurry from the room reminds you of a mouse caught in a trap. he all but pushes sakusa out the door, evacuating the house with a true absence of grace. it is as if little hinata has seen a ghost, or worse: that little hinata has awoken from a terrible dream. 

yachi is holding back tears; they pool, glassy, in the corners of her eyes. 

“it’s fine,” she tells you. “i’m over him.” she’s not. you know. 

you look out the window, anxiously, only to find sakusa giving hinata a pep talk in the front yard. hinata runs laps through the grass while sakusa tells him something, advice perhaps, that you cannot hear. he gestures back towards the house, and hinata pauses, nods, shakes the overwhelming nerves from his limbs. you blink, twice, and there’s another knock at the front door. your mother freezes; yachi sits up straighter on the couch. another beat, and hinata, alone, returns to the room. 

_this time_ , you leave yachi and hinata alone. _this time_ , there is a tearful _yes_ that emanates from the other side of the door. 

and you’re happy, you are: but there is, still, an itch you cannot scratch. you look out towards the yard, searching, but sakusa is gone. 

* * *

> **– ACT TEN.**

you cannot sleep that night. not that you would have been able to, anyway, with yachi on the other side of the room radiating roses and happy endings. 

you’re happy for her, you are: seeing yachi happy with a man like hinata is all you could have ever wished for her, truly. you are ecstatic that she will smile for the rest of her life, that she will be kind and cared for and warm. you know hinata will treat yachi like she is the most beautiful star in the universe. you know this because hinata shoyo is the sun. 

but that doesn’t stop the monster that grows in your chest, the unease that stems from your own misfortune. you know what you want, and yet you do not have the heart to say it out loud. 

you grab your coat, then, throwing it over your nightgown, and go for a walk. 

the mist is rising over the field; on the horizon, the sky turns to a dusty yellow as dawn approaches. dewdrops stain the edge of your gown, tickle your shoes. there are birds, somewhere, although you do not think they sing for you. 

it’s calm, timeless, a world that knows nothing about you, a world that does not wish to know. it is a world whose thoughts are closed to you, a world that does not ask for more. you try not to think, here, in this liminal time, this liminal place. 

you breathe, deeply, soaking in the fading starlight, and you see him. 

across the field, disheveled in his nightshirt and his boots and his overcoat, parading across the grass as if in a dream. 

it’s like you knew. it’s like he’s always known.

your feet carry you towards him with a steady grace, afraid to break the spell but unwilling to be parted from him any longer. you are scared to blink, even, as if sakusa kiyoomi is a mirage that will disappear as soon as you let your guard down. as if sakusa kiyoomi is a vision that your eyes can never sustain. you would drink it in, forever, if the world would let you. 

he is so, so beautiful, the radiance of every star and moon you have ever had the pleasure of seeing. he has not bothered to brush his curls away, and so they spring forth like rosebuds across his forehead. he has not bothered to be anyone else: only himself. 

you say his name. he says yours. 

“thank you,” you say, soft. you think there is a baby bird, eager, trapped in your chest. you think you are dizzy with dreaming. “after what you have done for my sisters – i should be making amends.” you are ready to offer him your soul, now. you wonder, briefly, if you always have been. 

sakusa’s eyes are looking deep within you, searching, and his voice hovers like butterfly wings, delicate and precious in the air. “you must know it was all for you.” 

_you know_. “thank you,” you say again, because with sakusa, you feel he somehow knows all you have to say. you bask in his presence, the bergamot wafting to you on a morning breeze. you let yourself imagine him for a lifetime. you let yourself, for once, give in. 

“please,” sakusa pleads, shifting on his feet in his classic nervous demeanor. he flexes his hands. his eyes never leave yours, and for the first time, they are knowing and knowable and deep. “if your feelings are still what they were before, tell me so at once. my affections have not changed, but one word from you will silence me forever.” 

your breath catches in your throat. caught in your stare, sakusa steps closer, and the hope in his eyes is physically palpable. you can smell the remains of his cologne on his shirt, see the remnants of ink on his fingertips. “but…” he continues, delicate and vulnerable, “if your feelings have changed, i would tell you that you have bewitched me body and soul, and i... _i love you_. i never wish to be parted from you.” 

you step closer, his partner in a dance that has already begun, and the sunrise pierces the horizon, shrouding you in gold. 

sakusa is so close now that you can see every pore, every whisper, every secret. and you know, too, that you would like to trace the lines that make up sakusa kiyoomi for the rest of your life. you know now that sakusa has never been unknowable and strange; he has only been waiting, patiently, for you to open your eyes and take what he has never stopped offering you. 

“well,” you whisper. you take his hands in yours and close your eyes. he leans his forehead against yours, slowly, tentatively, and you arrive home. 

and home, here, is a thousand sunrises, pulsing warm with every heartbeat. 


End file.
